Cutler, Nick Cutler
by madasmonty
Summary: One-shot for Cutler's final moments and what came after. "Holding the cold metal in his sticky, bloody hand, Nick raised it above his head. 'I always knew I'd be a history maker. No one will forget me now...'" Please read and review!


**Cutler, Nick Cutler**

_"To die will be an awfully big adventure."_  
><strong>- Sir James M. Barrie<strong>

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><p>Most things, even the greatest movements on earth, have their beginnings in something small. An earthquake that shatters a city begins with a tremor. Music begins with a vibration. A flood begins with a trickle of water. A hurricane begins with a gust of wind. And God created the entire universe from a single idea.<p>

Nick Cutler's world exploded because of a single question. A question that crawled up his throat and slipped from his lips like a tiny demon, crawling out of his mouth and ripping his entire world from then on apart. Four words, as simple as a heartbeat.

The question was: "_Hal York, I presume?"_

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><p>The days were summer, but the nights still dipped a ladle into the well of cool spring air, sending a flurry of pine needles dancing through the deep blue-black sky and making the wind howl with ferocious intensity.<p>

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><p>Remnants of memory – flickering, paled images – stirred inside a faraway corner of Nick's head. Crushing despair. <em>"I have already forgotten your name." <em>Being dragged away by that _dog _Milo. _"You're nothing but a relic." _Honolulu Heights. Smashing the door down. "_Ask me in. Ask me in."_

Pain.

Agony so great that it felt as if every nerve in Nick's body was being burnt individually, slowly, and his skin was being peeled back layer by layer. His screams leapt from his lungs as a flock of wild birds, flying up and up, away from the pain and soaring out of the window, into the world.

But his body was very much still earthbound. He dragged his ruined mass of muscle and sinews across the thorny carpet, grimacing with the agony of it, desperate to reach his goal. The baby. The War Child from the myth as ancient as the vampire race themself. He was going to destroy her. He would sign the death warrant for his entire race.

Neither ghost – Hal's girlfriend and the girl in the grey jacket – made any move to stop him. The latter ghost was facing the other way, and he could see in what was left of his peripheral vision that she was crying silently. Hal's girlfriend was watching his haul himself across the needles of pain, through the fire and burning ice, towards the War Child.

Pulling himself to his feet, Nick stared down at the baby. She seemed so innocent, pale and round-faced. How could something so tiny and harmless be the cause of the downfall of vampires? For only a moment he hesitated, before pulling out the knife. He'd taken so many lives, what was one more? Even if she was a baby.

Nick managed to force words out of his burnt vocal cords, wishing the two ghosts would understand how much he needed them to understand: "_That's why I'm here. I only wanted to help_. _But you wouldn't even let me explain."_

Holding the cold metal in his sticky, bloody hand, Nick raised it above his head. _"I always knew I'd be a history maker. No one will forget me now."_

He could barely see through the melted flesh that had dripped over his eyes, but he could just about make out the flash of silver, the baby's face, and those electric blue eyes staring up at him dumbly.

And then he felt as if all the fiery pain that had befallen him was suddenly centred around his abdomen. His stomach felt like it had imploded and was spewing out everywhere. All the feelings were pouring through his veins like liquid anguish.

He tried to open his mouth to scream, but he could feel hot liquid crawling up his throat and dribbling down over his chin. He couldn't scream – he couldn't speak – he couldn't breathe – he couldn't – he couldn't –

When he finally collapsed onto his knees, Nick wanted the end. And the end, when it came, was bliss.

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><p>Instead of opening his eyes, Nick decided to listen to his surroundings. He could hear running water, a fountain perhaps, and birds singing all around him. He was hypnotized by the gentle swaying of the breeze caressing his skin. All the traces of the prior freezing nighttime were gone, and the sun was warming his ice cold skin. He basked in it. The smell of summertime made him feel as light as a cloud. He was at peace. Completely.<p>

And when he opened his eyes, he wasn't shocked to see Rachel smiling down at him. Her eyes were warm with love, slightly damp with unshed tears, and looking down at him. Her hair was glowing in the dim sunlight like a golden halo. Her milky skin was as flawless as he remembered it; each tiny dimple in her cheeks as she smiled down at him was just as he'd pictured it in every dream he'd had for the last fifty-five years.

Suddenly the reason why he was there, in that beautiful happy place, became undeniably clear. No words needed to pass between the husband and wife as tears sprang to his eyes.

Rachel knelt down beside him and encircled him with the comfort of her arms. She held him close as he leant onto her shoulder and sobbed. He could feel her hair falling around his neck and wondered for a moment if this was a dream, because it was what he'd dreamt of for the last half a century. Then he remembered the agonizing fire when he'd entered Honolulu Heights uninvited, and what he'd just realized, and reasoned that this couldn't be a dream.

"I'm scared Rachel." Nick whispered, his voice catching in his throat.

She kissed his head gently and sighed. "I know, Nick. I know. But I'll help you through it, I promise."

He pulled away and looked into her eyes, sniffing slightly. "Will you?" He whispered, daring to hope for a miracle. "Even after everything… everything I did to you?"

Shaking her head, Rachel smiled a little. "I've had a long time to think things over. I understand now that it wasn't your fault. What happened to us was awful. Tragic. But it wasn't your fault. I was murdered because you were too strong – too brave – to do it yourself. You stood up for our love and refused to hurt me."

It felt as if the weight of every day he'd spent in self-loathing, every second of the two thousand and seventy five sleepless nights, every guilt-filled moment, was lifted off of Nick's mind. _Rachel didn't blame him._ He felt a flower bloom inside his chest, a blood red rose, so beautiful and new. Dare he believe this? Did he even deserve such happiness?

"I'm so, sorry." He breathed, barely moving his lips. He didn't know how he could fit all of the guilt, all of the grief, all of the loneliness, he'd felt in the last fifty-five years into his mouth.

Rachel leant close towards him, smiling with both her eyes and her mouth. She looked like the happiest person in the entire universe.

"I forgive you." She replied.

Blinking away the last residue of his tears, Nick stood up. Rachel stood too, and they turned together to face the wooden black door facing them from across the small expanse of grass. It was wooden and the paintwork was slightly chipped, but it was still a lovely design and elegantly crafted.

Taking the other's hand, Nick and Rachel Cutler walked together towards the door to his Purgatory, to face whatever lay beyond, together.

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><p><strong>- The End -<strong>

**Author's Note: _I feel that the look of someone's Door to the Afterlife reflects their personality somehow - Cutler's Door, in my mind, would have therefore been elegant and beautiful, but slightly imperfect and ruined, because he tried to do good but was corrupted by the circumstances he found himself in. Also, while it's never confirmed in the Being Human Universe that vampires go to Heaven, I'd like to think that they do because it was hinted that Mitchell was waiting for Annie in beyond her Door, and how could people as ultimately lovely - merely monsters because of someone else's doing - not have a happy Afterlife? I would also like to think that, after all the sadness and pain Cutler went through, he could have a chance to finally make peace with Rachel._**


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